


indulgence

by LouRandom



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Clothed Sex, Coming Untouched, Drunk Sex, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, Lots of it, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Season 2, Romance, Smut, Touch-Starved, Viren is a Mess, porn with a little plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 11:09:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18964048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LouRandom/pseuds/LouRandom
Summary: Viren doesn’t understand thisobsessionAaravos has withtouching, and why only Viren seems to be the focus of these attentions. It's his luck that this does have a way of leaving him… unsettled. Disturbed, perhaps, is the better word. And if Viren were honest with himself—considerably flustered.





	indulgence

**Author's Note:**

> me: *worries that fluff doesn't tie well to smut in this fic, agonizes over posting it*  
> [Leaf](https://twitter.com/littleleafbun) (who, again, is to blame for all 4k of this: What would Viren do? He'd post it and think "It's practical. It's beautiful and it will save many many lives!"
> 
> *clears throat* IT'S PRACTICAL, IT'S BEAUTIFUL, AND IF THIS SOMEHOW SAVES ANYONE'S LIFE WELP LUCKY YOU I GUESS HAHA
> 
> hope you enjoy the read :3

Viren doesn’t understand this  _obsession_ Aaravos has with _touching_ , and why only Viren seems to be the focus of these... attentions.

Aaravos is eager to touch every patch of skin he can reach whenever they would meet, to hold on to Viren when they would sit reading in silence, to tug him by his clothes whenever Aaravos wanted his attention. It had been… troubling when Aaravos would do so as a barely visible spirit astral projecting through the mirror. Now though, Aaravos is beginning to materialize properly, his form ever more solid in Viren’s reality—for now, the grim dark coldness of his cell, but just in a few more days, once Aaravos finishes his transition to this world through their blood pact, it will be the fresh air of freedom. And Aaravos being more corporeal means Viren feels his touches ever more acutely, which does have a way of leaving him… unsettled. Disturbed, perhaps, is the better word.

If he were honest with himself—considerably flustered.

Aaravos grows on him, naturally, his only companion in this cold dark misery, just as Viren is Aaravos’ in his lonely pocket dimension. They bond over their shared yearning for knowledge, over their similar outlook on Xadian politics. They find themselves more and more alike in their respect for the magical; Aaravos awes Viren with the tantalizing tales of the art in the old times, and Viren manages to surprise the elf, too, with stories of magical innovations that he’d missed in the past millennium.

It’s staggering to Viren to find out Aaravos had been trapped for that long. With no one to talk to, nothing to see but his demure palace of a prison. The lifeless glass of the mirror seemed to taunt him, he relays, the Dragon King careful not to allow Aaravos even a little glimpse into the outside world. He lets Viren feel just a touch of his pent-up pain and frustration through a tentative mind-link they had thanks to the blood rite.

And Viren has to admit the ordeal is far worse than anything he’s ever experienced, or is going through now. He catches it, sometimes, when Aaravos thinks he isn’t looking—the almost tangible sadness reflected in his amber eyes as he stares off into nothingness, no doubt longing to be back to his old self once more. He worries, too, about the effect his spell may have on Viren, checking his condition ever so often, making sure the transition doesn’t take more energy from Viren than he is physically able to spare. Aaravos touches him during these ‘inspections’ as well, pressing his palm flat against his chest, palming his neck, his wrists. They’ve left him shirtless in the cell, which makes it even more awkward, and every time the elf lets go of him—albeit not for long—Viren is left standing still in shock, a little breathless from the closeness.

Disturbed, he tries to convince himself. Flustered, the more truthful part of his subconscious echoes.

 _Aroused,_ he doesn’t dare think.  

*

Days pass, and Aaravos informs Viren that the spell has almost run its course.

The mirror’s curse will break soon.

Aaravos casts an elaborate spell to salvage a bottle of ancient wine from his dimension, presenting it to Viren as he appears once more as a scarily life-like illusion, a wide, mischievous grin on his face.

“A worthy cause for celebration, don’t you think?” Aaravos says, dismantling Viren’s chains with a flick of his hand; it’s engrained as a habit by now whenever Aaravos comes to visit. Viren rubs his wrists and surveys Aaravos with a touch of suspicion. “What?” Aaravos raises an eyebrow. “Have any of my drinks ever caused you unwanted side effects?”

“Not exactly,” Viren says, slowly, prompting Aaravos’ self-satisfied grin.

Admittedly, the potion Aaravos had him drink during the first spell he had Viren do simply allowed for communication with no harmful effects other than a blood sacrifice to perform it. Yet a more potent version of it allowed for Aaravos’ being to start gradually seeping into this world, to no particular detriment to Viren’s life force—though he has yet to understand how that works. And yet another concoction made all painful effects of dark magic dissipate from Viren’s body, only the faded scars remaining painted over his skin. _They suit you,_ Aaravos had said that day, looking Viren over appraisingly. Almost hungrily. Viren clears his throat, driving the memory away.

“I simply don’t think it wise to get drunk in this manner, Aaravos.” Viren uses his name for emphasis; the elf always more attentive when he does. “And it is a bit early to celebrate… however—however good this must feel for you.”

He trails off and looks away, his tone sounding meek even to his ear, the wording pathetically weak. The truth, if he were being honest with himself, of course, is that he really doesn’t mind this—spending time with a would-be enemy, allying himself with Aaravos, befriending him. Mere weeks ago, before he’d discovered the mirror’s secret, the sheer thought of ending up like this would have Viren disgusted. And _now_ —

“Do indulge yourself a little, Viren.” Aaravos wastes no time grabbing Viren by his arm and pulling him towards the shabby cot of a bed the cell was supplied with, ignoring Viren’s timid protests. He sits them both down and opens the bottle, filling up two glasses which appear out of nowhere, directing one to fly to Viren’s hand, hovering near it. “Everything doesn’t have to be a struggle,” Aaravos chastises him, lips curled in a light grin. “If I never simply relaxed during my imprisonment, I would have gone mad, surely.” There’s a softness, a levity to his deep voice making it sound silken to Viren’s ears. His hand returns to Viren’s arm, gliding from his shoulder to elbow to wrist, giving it a gentle squeeze.

And _now_ , Viren feels strangely secure in the presence of this powerful entity still largely unfamiliar to him, his motives still unclear and possibly malevolent. Yet Aaravos’ kindness and genuine interest in what Viren has to say, his near-constant presence, unnecessary yet greatly appreciated in his solitude, makes Viren believe more and more that he can trust him.  

That they can, possibly, be friends.

Viren takes the glass with his free hand, slowly, twirling it in his fingers. It feels wrong, he thinks, letting go. Indulging himself. Or perhaps he’s gotten that much unused to it in the past few years.

“Your health,” Aaravos says, raising the glass to his lips.

“Your freedom,” Viren toasts in turn, amused by how Aaravos grins widely, lips glistening dark with wine, the stars on his cheeks lighting up brighter for a fleeting moment.

 _Cute_  is the word that springs to mind, and Viren has to will the thought away, taking a sip of his drink to ground himself. It is, unsurprisingly, probably the best wine he’s ever tasted, the flavor rich and deep, the warmth from it seeming to sizzle through Viren’s whole body.

“Pleasant?” Aaravos asks.

“Very much so. How old did you say the bottle was?”

“Older than you are.”

Viren chuckles and leans back against the cold wall, sidelining the smirking elf, wondering once again exactly how he managed to end up in this arrangement. Whatever the arrangement was.

“This is all you have planned for tonight?” Viren takes another small drink, flooded once more my warmth and lightheadedness, even as a tinge of guilt spikes through him despite it. He watches Aaravos empty the rest of his glass and refill it after a long, contented sigh. He yearns to do the same. “Idle chatter and getting drunk?”

“I don’t see why not.” Aaravos inclines his head. “Unless you have something more… engaging in mind?”

Viren becomes keenly aware then of Aaravos’ fingers still encircling his wrist, tightening just a notch, the warmth of Aaravos’ skin almost searing. Viren’s lack of a shirt hits him again with a wave embarrassment, and he breaks away from Aaravos' grasp, clearing his throat as his mind races to muster at least a partially coherent answer.

“I do, in fact,” he says, finding sudden interest in admiring the smooth stone walls of his prison, “you have yet to tell me how you connected to the other sources of magic.”

“I told you,” Aaravos says softly. “It would be quite pointless. We'll have to be far from here and in the vicinity of a Primal Source for you to start learning. The explanations are better saved for then.”

“I still want to know,” Viren protests, “about _you_ , not necessarily the magic.”

“Ah, you flatter me,” Aaravos drawls, fingers reaching out to turn Viren’s head to face him. Again with the touching.  “Shall you then stop refusing to answer _my_ questions about yourself?”

Aaravos’ hands slips down his jaw to his neck, feeling at the pulse point there. Viren can’t help but blush. Can’t help but freeze. Can’t help but gasp as he realizes Aaravos is suddenly much closer to him on the makeshift bed than he had been.

Viren resists the urge to curse out loud, resists the sudden urge to draw Aaravos closer.

“Uh…” Viren says stupidly.

He clears his throat again and tries, in vain, to quiet the chaos raging in his mind, to calm his heart that seems intent on beating faster with each passing second. He downs the rest of the wine to ground himself, and the effect dizzies his enough that Viren makes the decision before his rational side can convince him otherwise.

“I don’t see why not,” he echoes Aaravos’ earlier words, and the elf chuckles, stars sparkling brighter momentarily, almost as radiant as his smile. He refills their glasses and shifts closer to Viren, all regard for personal space thrown aside.

Unsurprising.

Viren sighs but doesn’t say anything, doesn’t protest. _Everything doesn’t have to be a struggle,_ the words ring in his ears, sounding more and more like a good idea.

“The easiest,” Aaravos begins, “was the Sun Primal, as the sun is in itself also a star…”

*

Soon enough, Viren finds himself drifting off into the cozy, alcohol-induced haze he only now realises he's been missing. It must have been over a decade since he'd let himself drink, opting to forego the detriment spirits dealt to his body as he became more and more affected by Dark Magic. Now, unburdened by the latter, he empties glass after glass, gradually lulled deeper into pleasant tipsiness by the rich baritone of Aaravos’ voice, which rings with that particular nostalgic note it has whenever he Aaravos delves deep into his past.

Viren barely notices—really doesn’t mind, at this point—Aaravos’ hand finding its way back to Viren’s wrist. He glides it up and down his forearm, then moves it to palm at center of Viren’s chest, casting the spell Viren has learnt is meant to make sure his body stays undamaged by the force of their connection. It stirs something warm in the pit of Viren’s stomach, a strange mix of shame and guilt intertwined with gratitude and fondness. 

It’s been a long time, he thinks, since anyone but his children truly cared about him.

Bitter memories of his fights with Harrow surface before being swept away by another one of Aaravos smirks as he finishes telling him of his encounter with a hostile Moon dragon. The smug look he has on his face makes Viren want to kiss it away—for one terrifying, exhilarating moment.

“An illusion that fooled a Moon dragon,” Viren echoes. “That one must have been impressive.”

Aaravos preens, his movements almost feline, as he shifts even closer to Viren, pressing against his side. He surveys the ceiling for a few moments before continuing,

“To be fair, the dragon was quite… daunting.” He plays with the empty glass in his hand, glancing longingly at the emptied bottle. “So I simply turned into a leaf small enough that he couldn’t exactly notice anything without focused effort.”

There’s a beat of silence wherein Viren tries to restrain himself—but he _has_ to laugh. Small chuckles turning into unbridled laughter as he throws his head back, the image burned into his mind in sharp contrast to the mystery and grandeur with which Aaravos had been telling the story. Aaravos elbows him in side then, which does little to calm Viren down.

“I was _young_.”

“A _leaf_ ,” Viren taunts, struggling to speak in between chuckles. 

“It was the best disguise at the time,” Aaravos argues, tone defensive.

"Of _course_ it was."

Aaravos grips Viren’s chin then, as if on an impulse, turning him to face his gaze, no doubt knowing the sobering effect such proximity has. 

“I suppose you wouldn’t have done the same,” Aaravos says, smirking as Viren lets out a gasp, his laughter halting, a blush blooming on his skin.

“Of course not,” Viren teases, though his voice comes out as a shaky whisper. “I did kill the Dragon King, remember?”

“By chance.”

“By casting nothing short of a miraculous spell, you mean.”

“I almost did, too, if you recall,” Aaravos points out. “It was a minor setback that prevented it.”

Viren blinks, his lips curling into a wider grin.

“Which is another way of saying you didn’t manage to kill—”

“ _No_ ,” Aaravos says, silencing Viren with a finger on his lips before he can finish, “because I _could_ have.”

“I finished your work for you it seems,” Viren says, shifting his head so Aaravos’ fingers drop from his lips, drifting lower,

“At great cost to your health, if I may add.” Aaravos traces one of the dark marks running down Viren’s neck.

“Regardless, I succeeded—and you, Archmage Aaravos, failed.” Viren’s cheeks start to hurt from his smiling so much, another rare occurrence becoming usual as of late. “Preposterous, isn’t it?”

Aaravos huffs and draws his hands away, muttering a string of curses as he rolls his eyes. The sight of it is so endearing that Viren catches himself wanting to draw closer. If he could just lean in…

“That’s how I feel with you,” Viren says, shaking his head lightly to drive the urge away. “All the damned time.” There’s a reason he shouldn’t do this, shouldn’t even _think_ of doing this, one that even his drunken mind seems to be aware of. He buries his face in his hands and groans. “I shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Doing what?” Viren hears the smirk in Aaravos’ voice.

“Laughing so much.”

“Why not?” Aaravos prompts.

“With _you_.”

“Why _not_?” There are hands around Viren’s shoulders, making him all the dizzier, drunk on feelings of exhilaration and lust that he’s really got to stop denying at this point.

“I’m drunk,” Viren says, like that explains everything.

Aaravos, in turn, lifts him by the chin once more. Viren’s eyes fly open to meet dark amber orbs seeming to be burning right through him, and he can’t help the small whine that escapes him. Their lips are inches apart this time, almost touching. If only one of them closes the distance and—

“So what?” Aaravos murmurs. The words send a shiver down Viren’s body, Aaravos’ tone laden with the desire Viren has felt radiating from him since before he even dared consider himself having a matching longing.

Viren thinks he understands now, this obsession Aaravos seems to have with touching him, as his own hands reach to roam over the dark skin revealed by Aaravos’ clothing. As Viren draws in to seal their lips in a yet chaste, fleeting kiss. As he shifts his body closer to Aaravos, wrapping his arms around his broad shoulders, gripping him tightly, trying to keep his mind coherent despite the erratic beating of his heart, his ragged breathing.

“Oh, finally,” Aaravos simply says, “you let go.”

The press of hot lips against Viren’s is eager, demanding, almost frantic, and he melts into it, eyes fluttering shut, his grip on Aaravos’ shoulders tightening as he draws him closer, his whole being seeming to sizzle with pent-up desire.

It all seems to run through his mind lightning-fast—Aaravos’ endless touching driving him up the wall, the way Viren himself stares at Aaravos, the graceful movements of his body, the glittering stars, when he thinks Aaravos doesn’t notice. It feels amazing to let some of that tension loose, and Viren wastes no time deepening the kiss, surprising even himself as he coaxes Aaravos’ mouth open, tongue gliding in, eliciting a low, needy groan from Aaravos which is enough to make Viren shake with want.

He straddles Aaravos, clinging to him as their kiss becomes messier, more heated. Aaravos draws Viren flush to him, hands clawing at his skin, as if Aaravos is starved for touch, and all things considered, Viren thinks, maybe he is. He draws away to take a quick breath, gazing at Aaravos face, flushed dark-blue just like his lips, and it’s not long before Viren kisses him again, groaning as he does, reveling in the closeness. Aaravos’ lips are more demanding now, and as are his hands, gliding down Viren’s arms, his chest, dragging through the hair he finds there, which makes him all the more aroused.

Aaravos doesn’t do anything more though, just kissing Viren, sometimes leaving his lips to lick at his neck, suck bruises onto his skin, worry his ear with his teeth—and Viren’s finds himself pliant and open to it, moans loud and pleading, hands clawing at Aaravos’ shoulders, wordlessly begging him for more.

“Enjoying yourself?” Aaravos whispers, at biting his ear, and his _voice_ —

The sheer sound of it so close is enough to make Viren whimper, to have him thrust desperately against Aaravos', but strong hands grasp his hips to keep them in place. Viren squeezes his eyes shut, overwhelmed by the pleasure, his breaths coming in harsh gasps as he barely manages to whisper _yes, yes, like_ that,  _please_ in between them.

Aaravos captures his lips in yet another open-mouthed kiss and shifts them on the cot so he ends up on top. Viren hopes—at last—to feel the delightful friction he craves if only Aaravos just—

Viren whines in frustration as he realizes Aaravos has no intention to do anything past this. Kissing. Teasing. Occasional touches here and there. Never near his cock, where Viren wants it most, never even straying towards his crotch. The smirk on Aaravos’ lips as he pulls away from the kiss is almost cruel, even as Viren sees his eyes clouded with matching need. _Damn you_ , he wants to say, but all that comes out is a pathetic whimper.

Aaravos then moves to trail a path of bruising kisses down Viren's jaw, to his neck, all over his chest. And Viren tries, truly tries to quell the waves of pleasure wrecking his body. He moans, and cries out and squirms under Aaravos’ weight, every fiber of his being longing for the sweet sensation of release. But it would be too soon, too embarrassing if he…

Aaravos settles on his nipple then, sucking one into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks as he does, and the mere visual of how debauched Aaravos looks like this almost has Viren coming then and there.

“Wait!” His hand tangles in Aaravos' hair. “Wait, I—”

“What?” Aaravos lifts his head and stares at Viren expectantly, his gaze lust-filled, tone laced with impatience.

“I just,” Viren gasps, “I need... a minute, I...” he trails off, his hands finding their way to Aaravos' shoulders, holding him at bay, if weakly.

Aaravos seems to understand without further words, a knowing grin tugging at his lips. Yet instead of ‘giving Viren a moment’ as it were, he kisses him again with renewed fervor, his hands everywhere on Viren’s body except where he aches to feel them the most. He swallows each and every one of Viren’s moans and gasps and whimpers against his lips, and keeps at it until he has Viren trembling hard against him, his grip on Aaravos surely on the verge painful. He battles to stave off an orgasm that he feels building fast, inevitable, feeling his breeches soaking wet with precome, almost daunted by the effect Aaravos seems to have on him, taking him apart so easily, every light touch pushing Viren closer to the edge.

Aaravos breaks the kiss and returns to lick at his nipples, lavishing the left one with attention this time, swirling his tongue around it, teasing it with light bites, sucking it in until it’s hardened, red and oversensitive. Viren’s fingers tangle in Aaravos’ hair, torn between pushing him away and keeping him in place.

The former isn’t really an option, of course, not when he’s so far gone, uncaring about anything but the elf above him.

Viren grinds against him once more, and Aaravos gives him the freedom to do so this time, releasing his hips and hooking his hands under Viren’s knees instead, raising his legs to wrap around Aaravos’ middle. Viren rubs their lengths together through the clothing, all sense of shame and guilt forgotten as he chases the pleasure he so aches for.

“Come, Viren,” Aaravos growls, freeing his nipple and looking up at Viren with those burning eyes of his, darkened with unrestrained desire. “Come for me.”

And Viren does, with a drawn-out groan, shivering and thrusting wantonly against Aaravos’ hips, face and chest painted red with blush, his eyes screwed shut from the pleasure spasming through his body with the release and the aftershocks. Aaravos holds him, almost cradles him like Viren’s something precious, whispering his name over and over again almost like a prayer, groaning lowly every time Viren’s length grazes against his. Viren suffers through the overstimulation, Aaravos reluctant to let him go, but has to push him away when it becomes unbearable. It felt endless, the orgasm, the force of it exhilarating. And terrifying—like falling. Like he was torn apart by Aaravos and built back together again, piece by little piece.

Viren’s eyes stay closed as he comes down from the high, Aaravos moving to lie beside him, running his hand up and down his arm gently, sometimes running through his sweat-slicked hair, brushing his lips. Viren’s breathing calms only after a few minutes and he chances a glance at Aaravos then, finding him grinning, looking perfectly content with only a few hairs out of place and a light purple blush lingering on his features.

He tries to say something, but the words die in his throat as he gets enraptured by how beautiful Aaravos is like this, relaxed, and vulnerable, and content, just like Viren is. Aaravos must have shed his shirt at some point, revealing the chiseled muscles of his arms, yet more starry freckles peppered upon the skin, and Viren yearns to memorize them with his lips.

“Satisfied?” Aaravos breaks the silence, cupping Viren’s face tenderly, almost as if he would a cherished lover. Yet Viren catches himself before his mind can wander, knowing better than to think of that, to even  _dream_ of it, and banishes the thought away.

“It isn’t obvious?” Viren quips, voice hoarse from all the moaning he now recalls with a prickle of shame.

“Just making certain,” Aaravos purrs, shifting closer to Viren and throwing an arm around his torso. Viren sighs, his spent cock twitching as he feels the hard outline of Aaravos’ hardness pressing insistently against his thigh. “Ready for more?”

Viren huffs out a laugh.

“Gods no,” he says, even as he moves to capture Aaravos’ lips with his, grinning into the kiss as Aaravos lets out a pleased groan. Viren ends up straddling him, all traces of restraint gone at this point, relishing Aaravos’ moans as he grinds into his length. “But you seem to be in need of attention,” Viren breathes, pulling away, starting to work on unclasping Aaravos’ belt. There’s a burning need inside him, almost vengeful in a childish, self-indulgent kind of way, to make Aaravos fall apart just like he did Viren.

And judging by how Aaravos smirks at that, his stars glowing brighter and his eyes half-lidded, he’s more than ready for whatever Viren does next.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! <3
> 
> P.S. again, I would like to call everyone to arrest Leaf and drag her to a tribunal bc she ASSAULTS ME with this idea, I write her a nice lil 600 word hc, she's like 'hey turn it into a fic', and my brain is like: yep, 4000 words, that's the way to go, Lou  
> *facepalm*
> 
> find me virsting my life away on [twitter](https://twitter.com/Lou_Random) and [tumblr](https://lou-random.tumblr.com/)


End file.
